Page 27 of The Briar Bargain (The Rom Com Collection #3)

E lizabeth removed her gloves as she entered the house with Jane, pleased that neither of them had tracked so much as a speck of mud across Mrs. Nicholls's carefully polished floors.

Their short turn about the garden had been undertaken with deliberate caution.

No straying from the gravel paths despite the glorious return of sunshine that had made Elizabeth's spirits soar.

Yet her back no longer pained her and the fresh air was magnificent.

It was a welcome sanctuary after days of confinement.

The bright heat of a well-tended fire greeted them in the breakfast room, as did the rich aroma of fresh chocolate, coffee, and the comforting smell of toast and preserves.

Mr. Darcy was already in the room, of course.

She knew him to be an early riser from her first days at Netherfield, when she had been tending Jane.

He was not, as Elizabeth might have expected, seated with a book or newspaper, but was instead standing at the sideboard.

She smiled to herself as she noted his immaculate coat, the precise knot of his cravat, the way his posture spoke of a man who approached even the selection of morning fare as a matter requiring serious contemplation.

Before the flood, she had rolled her eyes at such exactness—in private, of course. Now she found it rather endearing.

He did not glance up at their entrance immediately, though Elizabeth fancied his movements slowed fractionally as Mrs. Nicholls quietly curtsied and withdrew from the room.

There was something in his stillness that suggested awareness, as though he were as conscious of their arrival as they were of his presence.

"Good morning," he said at last, turning to face them with that careful composure that Elizabeth had come to recognise as distinctly his own.

"Good morning, Mr. Darcy," Jane replied as she moved further into the room.

Elizabeth paused a few feet from him. "We hope we are not late. The morning was so inviting that I fear we may have lingered out of doors longer than intended."

"Not at all," he replied. "Mrs. Nicholls informed me that you had returned from your walk. I thought you might appreciate something warm to eat after your time in the garden."

As he spoke, he moved to the table with measured steps, carrying two plates that he had apparently prepared during their absence.

One he set before Jane with careful attention to placement, the other at the place next to her.

The gesture was performed without flourish or ceremony, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

Elizabeth looked down at her plate, her breath catching slightly.

The arrangement was not merely thoughtful, it was perfect.

Eggs prepared exactly as she preferred them, neither too soft nor too firm, their golden centres just beginning to set.

A slice of toast bearing a careful application of currant jam rather than the marmalade that seemed to dominate the Netherfield tables. Had he spoken to the cook again ?

And beside her plate was a cup of tea. She lifted it to her lips and discovered that it had been prepared exactly to her taste.

She had said nothing of her breakfast preferences aloud, at least not recently. Indeed, she could hardly recall voicing such specific tastes to anyone in the household.

"Oh," said Jane, her voice bright with genuine delight as she discovered her own breakfast. "Chocolate. How very kind of you, Mr. Darcy."

"It was no trouble at all," Mr. Darcy replied, though Elizabeth detected something almost diffident in his manner as he spoke.

Elizabeth glanced up, seeking some explanation in his expression, but found his countenance as unreadable as ever. He had already returned to the sideboard, attending now to his own meal with the same methodical attention he had devoted to theirs.

She could not puzzle him out.

Mr. Hurst entered a few moments later, moving with the half-shut eyes and deliberate care of a man whose primary concern was reaching his coffee without worsening his headache.

Elizabeth had seen her father in such a state once or twice after an evening engagement.

Mr. Hurst settled himself with his cup and an old newspaper held at precisely the angle necessary to discourage any social interaction.

She exchanged a small smile with Jane and turned back to her food.

A few minutes after her husband’s arrival, Mrs. Hurst appeared in the doorway with Miss Bingley at her side.

Mrs. Hurst acknowledged the Bennet sisters, but her eyes moved frequently between her sister Caroline and Mr. Hurst, as though she were observing some silent drama playing out beyond Elizabeth's comprehension.

Miss Bingley's entrance was marked by a quick nod and a smile that struck Elizabeth as brittle as ice. "What a fine morning this has turned out to be," she said with every appearance of amiability .

“It is beautiful,” Elizabeth replied, for once finding herself able to agree with Miss Bingley. Too bad a discussion of the weather was as far as their conviviality went.

Miss Bingley did not take her seat immediately but instead walked slowly along the sideboard to fill her plate. Mr. Darcy did not rise from his own meal to do her the service he had done the Bennet ladies.

"I suppose you enjoyed your walk?" Miss Bingley said, her back still turned to the table as she contemplated the various offerings.

Elizabeth had already agreed with her about the weather. It was Jane’s turn to reply, which she did.

"Very much indeed. The fresh air after so many days indoors was most restorative. It is still quite damp, however, and we were careful to keep to the paths."

Miss Bingley turned then, that same tight smile playing about her lips. "How very brave of you to risk the dirt.”

Elizabeth felt her spine straighten, though Miss Bingley had not said anything directly insulting.

She was opening her mouth to deliver what she hoped would be a measured response when Mr. Darcy, without looking up from his plate or altering his relaxed posture in the slightest, said with perfect mildness, "The Miss Bennets are not in the habit of favouring appearances over health and exercise.

I am certain the decision was a sound one. "

The silence that followed this remark was profound enough that Elizabeth could hear the soft tick of the mantel clock and the distant sound of servants moving about their morning duties just outside the room.

Miss Bingley's smile faltered for an instant before reasserting itself, though it now carried a forced quality that made Elizabeth rather uncomfortable. She did not respond to Mr. Darcy .

Elizabeth found herself at a loss for words.

The statement had been delivered with the calm assurance of one commenting on the weather or the time of day.

No particular emphasis, no pointed glance in their direction, no apparent desire for recognition or gratitude.

Yet it had silenced Miss Bingley's implied criticism as effectively as if he had delivered a formal rebuke.

He had defended her most memorably at dinner the previous evening, when Miss Bingley's comments had grown particularly sharp. But this felt different somehow. Smaller in scope, perhaps, but also more natural. As though defending her and Jane required no effort, no thought at all.

She thought it perhaps the very purest demonstration of gentlemanly behaviour.

Elizabeth’s gaze drifted once more to Mr. Darcy, who was listening to Mr. Hurst compliment the temperature of the sausages on the warming tray. She looked down at her plate, suddenly uncomfortable with the direction of her own observations.

The man had told her quite plainly that he wished to be her friend and that was all.

His attentions, such as they were, could be understood as part of that declared friendship.

And if he was also looking after Jane's comfort with equal care, then perhaps it was simply what one might expect from a gentleman who was serious about his responsibilities to ladies who were guests in the house, even when the hosting was technically his friend's obligation.

Well, it was Miss Bingley’s obligation, truth be told, but they all knew how assiduously she attended to it.

Elizabeth found herself reviewing her recent interactions with Mr. Darcy.

Perhaps he had been more solicitous than a gentleman might normally be.

But no, surely she was imagining significance where none existed.

Such speculation was idle and, more importantly, potentially dangerous to her peace of mind.

Not unlike her dream about the white shirt and Mr. Darcy being without it. She closed her eyes briefly before training them on her plate.

There was still no sign of Mr. Bingley. She believed his absence was due to matters relating to the tenant cottages and the flood damage, though perhaps he also desired to avoid the increasingly strained atmosphere that seemed to pervade meals when his sister was present.

For Jane's sake, Elizabeth found herself hoping that his attentions to these practical matters would not diminish his regard for more personal concerns.

"Miss Elizabeth," Mrs. Hurst said suddenly, her voice cutting through the quiet conversation and the gentle clink of china, "you appear remarkably well this morning. I do hope your walk was not too taxing after your recent . . . accident."

Elizabeth offered a carefully measured smile. "Not at all, I thank you. A little sunshine was precisely what I required."

Elizabeth had just taken a bite of her perfectly prepared toast when Mr. Darcy spoke again.

"Bingley has mentioned that if the weather continues fair, the groundsmen hope to finish applying fresh gravel to the east path by mid-afternoon. It should provide safe footing for a longer constitutional tomorrow, should you be inclined to venture further afield."